The Only Thing that Stays the Same
by Alana Stone
Summary: When Miley Stewart was put into a coma just after she turned fourteen, the world didn't wait for her. Now, twelve years later, she's woken up to find that everything has changed, including the people around her. Back from hiatus, and officially Moliver.
1. The First Moments

**A/N:** Here we go... My first Hannah Montana fic. This chapter is actually a rewrite, as I lost the original, and I don't like it nearly as much as I did my first one. But here's to trying a fic that I actually don't have preconceived pairings for. Reviews/suggestions are always appreciated.

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Upon waking, there were two things in life that Miley Stewart was certain of. First off, she was going to be dead. And second, it was going to be her father who would be doing the killing. 

She didn't have to open her eyes to realize that she wasn't in her bed. The sheets were too scratchy, the mattress had odd lumps, and she was missing the extra weight on her head that was her Hannah Montana wig. _Oh, God_, Miley thought, clenching her eyes shut as if refusing to open them would make the entire scenario less real. She had been at a birthday party for… Carrie Underwood. That was right.

What had happened? _Maybe that strawberry daqiri wasn't as virgin as I thought_, Miley thought, still keeping her eyes firmly shut. _Daddy is going to kill me…_

It was time to open her eyes and accept what had gone on. Miley heaved a sigh before lifting a hand to her eyes. It was slow to respond, and a sharp pain jabbed in her arm as if someone had stuck a needle in it.

She meant to let out an "Owww!" or something slightly more colorful, but all that came out of her mouth was a dull moan. _Hell. What happened to me? Come on Miley, open your eyes. Time to wake up and deal with it all. _When she did, her eyes were slow to open. And as soon as she opened them, she wished that she hadn't.

The room around her was definitely not hers, nor was it a guest bedroom at Carrie Underwood's condo. It was a hospital room if she'd ever seen one. Posters of Hannah Montana on the walls and a set of blue and yellow pinstriped curtains on the window couldn't disguise that fact. Nor could the flowers on the table beside the bed, which she could only see out of the corner of her eye. They were sunflowers. _It's December_, Miley thought, frowning as best she could. _Who's got sunflowers in December?_

Her head ached. Her throat was dry. Worst of all, Bobby Ray wasn't at her bedside. _I'm at the hospital, in the hospital_, the popstar thought, rather surprising herself with how easy it was to think it all out. _Why isn't Dad here? I mean, whatever happened must've been yesterday. Maybe I fell down some stairs and broke my arm or something. Maybe I hit my head. That'd explain all the weirdness. But where's Dad?_

The odd train of thoughts rumbling through her mind stopped, abruptly, when a pretty (albeit slightly chubby) nurse entered the room, surprise written across ever feature. "Miss Stewart," she managed to breathe. "Um… Hold… Um, hold on for just a second, I'll be… I'll be right back."

_Great_, Miley groaned. Weren't nurses supposed to be more helpful than this? On _Grey's Anatomy_ they always explained things to the patient when they woke up. And here she had her own personal nurse, and the woman wasn't doing anything. Maybe it was her first day. She did look kind of young for being a nurse.

By the time that she had decided that, the door flew open to reveal a handsome young man in dark blue scrubs. He was staring at her incredulously, mouth hanging open as if to catch a fly. "Miles…"

He was too familiar for words. Or, well, too familiar for more than one word. "Olly?"

Twenty-something Oliver Oken was staring at her in the doorway of her hospital room with a stupefied look on his face. In a doctor's outfit. Oliver Oken.

"No," Miley whispered, her voice hoarse. Tears were filling up her eyes as she struggled to raise a hand up to her face and brush them away. "No, Oliver, what… What's happening? Where's my daddy?"

Oliver was at her side in a moment, sitting down on the side of the bed gingerly and taking her hand in his own. "Miles, it's okay. It's okay, I promise… You're here, and everything's going to fine."

She was crying.

Correction: she was _sobbing_.

Miley let the shudders pass through her frame as Oliver gently lifted her shoulders, resting her head on his chest. His arms went around her shoulders, letting her press her face into his shirt. He was warm, and Miley realized absurdly, he smelled good. Here she was, bawling into Oliver Oken's shirt, and she was thinking that he picked out good cologne.

"How long?" she managed through continual shudders and sniffles. Her crying was far from over, but she had the feeling that it wouldn't end until she knew exactly how many years of her life she had lost.

She could feel his deep breath before his answer arrived. "Twelve years," Oliver replied, more than a little sadly. "Twenty-six, and your birthday's not for another several months. In case you were wondering."

"Who brought the posters and the curtains and the flowers?" It was a stupid question, really. Her face was still in his shirt, her snot was surely running onto what were supposed to be vaguely sterile scrubs, and she was asking about who had hung curtains in her hospital room.

"Lily, your father, and me. In that order."

She could only be grateful that he didn't try to reassure her. He was answering her questions, no matter how odd they were. And he wasn't asking her if she was okay. As if she'd be able to answer that question.

She was twenty-six years old, and she didn't know what she'd grown up to look like. She had missed everything that her friends had experienced. Oliver was a doctor at a hospital, and she was still in the frame of mind that it didn't get much hotter than Orlando Bloom. He was probably over by now.

"I want a mirror."

Oliver hesitated at that, drawing back to look down at her. "No," he replied, firmly. "Not yet. Your doctor has to come in and see you. I'm surprised he's not here yet."

She frowned. "You're not my doctor?" _Hell, wrong question. You were supposed to ask why you weren't allowed to have a mirror. Ask the right one first next time, genius._

"Huh," he replied. "Not even close. I'm a resident for surgery. Your doctor is Doctor—"

"Henderson."

It was a new voice, and Miley had to draw away from Oliver to see who it belonged to, something she didn't want to do. It was a comely, redheaded man who was at least thirty. "Hello," she managed.

"Hello," he responded, smiling to display a row of even, white teeth. "Mister Oken, I'm afraid that you've got to leave. You have your own patients to attend to, and we'd like you to finish today's rounds before tomorrow's are supposed to start." There was only the slightest hint of sarcasm in his voice, and it was well-natured at the least.

Miley didn't resist as Oliver gently removed his arms from around her shoulders and helped her lay back down. "I'll be back, Miles. Soon as I finish my rounds."

She gave him a smile that said she believed him, and Oliver seemed pleased enough with that. Not that she wasn't still crying—Miley could feel the tears still slipping down her cheeks in a steady stream. But she hardly imagined that people woke up from comas and were completely sane.

_Oh my God. I was in a coma. For eleven years. Oh my God._ It wasn't real. It couldn't be real.

"It's nice to have you with us again, Miley," Doctor Henderson continued, scribbling fiercely on a clipboard that he produced from behind his back. "We'd been expecting you to wake up for some time now, but we weren't sure when. Tell me, are you experiencing any sort of pain?"

She attempted a nod, which was revealed to be a mistake when a wave of nausea swept through her. "Yeah," Miley answered faintly. "Headache. And I feel like I'm gonna hurl."

Doctor Henderson gave her a wry smile. "Fair enough," he replied, scribbling it down. "That's normal for you having just woken up, really. Are you hungry or thirsty? We'll be feeding you through an IV for the next few days, but I'm sure I could rustle up something if you'd like me to. Doesn't even have to be cafeteria food. I think Oliver would be happy to run somewhere and get you something. In fact, I'm pretty sure he's sitting outside the door listening to the conversation."

There was a loud spluttering from outside the room, and Miley grinned in spite of herself. "That's Ollie for you."

"Indeed," the doctor replied. "So, do you want anything?"

"French fries." She had no idea why, but it just sounded delicious. "With lots of salt and lots of ketchup. From McDonald's. And a soda. Hell, just get me one of those meals with the ten chicken nuggets."

The doctor chuckled, shaking his head. "That's what I get for asking. Normally I get requests for jello, pudding, and soup, which is fine. Nuggets and fries aren't exactly standard, but we'll see if you're not up for them in a few days. Sound good?"

"Mmm," Miley replied. It was as good as she was going to get. At least Oliver was outside the door. It meant she wouldn't be alone while some strange, handsome doctor was asking her how she was feeling while her entire life was being turned upsidown.


	2. Doctors and Nurses

**A/N:** Thank you all so much for the reviews! I really appreciate them, but I'd really like it if y'all could maybe offer some constructive criticism, or even just say something that you liked about the fic. Suggestions of pairings or characters you'd like to see would be great, too. It lets me know what I need to focus on. Additional thanks to everyone who listed this fic as a favorite already. I hope you'll like it the whole way through!

**Disclaimer: **As I have no money, you may safely assume that I do not own Hannah Montana.

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The questions rolled on, one after the other. Was her head hurting? Would she like water? Would she follow the light with her eyes? Did she know what her name was?

_He ought to ask me if I would strangle him right now if I could manage it,_ Miley thought with a half-hearted scowl. The one good thing was that Doctor Henderson was a damn handsome specimen of a man. She and Lily would have swooned over him…

Lily. Of course. "Am I going to have visitors?" the brunette asked when Doctor Henderson paused to take a breath. She was sick and tired of questions—he could answer one. "I mean, has anyone called and told my family that I'm awake?"

"I'm sure that Oliver's done that," the doctor answered smoothly. "Taryn should be doing it, but I'll bet that he's talked her into it. He's a very persuasive young man, that one." He looked up from his clipboard to smile, and Miley could have sworn that her heart dropped about two floors. His smile was too damn charming. "You did pick a pretty inconvenient time to wake up, of course. Four-fifteen in the morning here, so it's likely only one or two where your brother and father are."

Miley frowned again, confused. "Where are they? I mean, where am I? I mean… Answer both of 'em, will ya?"

"You're in Atlanta, Georgia. I believe that your father lives in Texas, and your brother's in California. And the blonde young woman who visits on your birthday with her husband—Layla, is that her name? She's out of the country right now."

_Why does he know all of this?_ Miley wondered. Were doctors really supposed to know all of this stuff?

She must have looked puzzled, because the doctor chuckled when he glanced up at her before scribbling another note or two on his clipboard. "You're a special case," he commented, as if it was no big deal. "I've been at this hospital for five years, and you've been on my case list since about my second month. All of your friends and family leave quite an impression when they come to see you. They've always been so upbeat."

So her dad was in Texas. Jackson was back in California. And Lily was not only married, but living somewhere other than the US. "Do you think they'll come soon?"

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Miley realized just how stupid they were. There was no way that this doctor was going to know when her family was coming. He probably didn't care, because he had other people to go see. She was someone who was supposed to be a grown woman, and she was asking for reassurance like a little girl.

Tears welled in her eyes as she looked up at the redheaded doctor. He was smiling at her. "Yeah," he replied with a small nod. "I think that they will."

Hell, he wasn't just smiling at her—he was staring at her. Miley blushed, before returning her gaze to her hands. They were still freaky looking, with IV tubes sticking out of her left one. Her skin was paler than she could ever remember it being before. In fact, she could see the veins through her skin, like she could on old people.

_I need to go to the beach and get a tan,_ she thought.

How stupid. Again. She was in the hospital, and she was sitting around thinking about how she needed to go to the beach. There wouldn't be any beach. Not for a long, long time. She'd probably have to go through rehab to build her muscles back up, and would probably go to live with her dad after that. If he was living in Houston, there was no way she was going to the Galveston beach. She'd been once when she was little, and the water was disgusting a brown. Maybe if he was down in Corpus Christi. That'd be cool.

Miley shook her head sharply, sending a wave of nausea through her body. _Stop it,_ she commanded herself. She wasn't thinking logically. She was in a hospital bed with a heart machine beeping (rather annoyingly, actually) not much more than a foot away from her head.

"Well, I think that this takes care of it for now," Doctor Henderson said, breaking Miley out of her ponderings. "Taryn ought to be back soon, and I'm sure she'll be happy to help you with anything that you need." He was still smiling at her, but looked a little sheepish about it. "I'll check in with you in a few hours to see how you're doing. That okay with you?"

She nodded. That was all that she could manage, really, as her mind was still trying to sort itself out. "Sounds great."

The pretty blonde nurse was in the room before Doctor Henderson left, leaving Miley with no room to think. "Hello," the young woman greeted her brightly. Too brightly for it being a quarter past four in the morning, really. "I'm Taryn. You're Miley, right? It's great to see you. Awake, I mean."

She rolled her eyes, then smiled at Miley, who couldn't help but grin back. This was what she wanted. Someone cheerful who wasn't going to treat her like she was going to break. "Yeah. It's nice to be awake."

Taryn laughed at that, shaking her head. "Yeah. I know that I'm supposed to be supportive and all that jazz, but I'm really no good at the broody, do you want to talk about it kind of thing. That's why they put me on night staff. More people during the day. I mean, you'll talk about it if you want to, right? I'd hate to spill my guts to a total stranger. And I'm rambling. I'm so sorry."

Miley smiled and shrugged. "No, this is great," she admitted truthfully. "I should be thinking about all this serious stuff, and I'm thinking that I want to go to the beach."

"We should go to Hawaii," the nurse replied with a teasing smile, all the while bustling around the room at small tasks Miley didn't care enough about to investigate. "Because it's January and I'd kill for some hot weather. Miserable time of the year. I've never been to Hawaii before, anyways. Have you?"

Taryn really could talk. She was cool for an older girl, though. _Wait_, Miley reminded herself. _She's younger than you. But who cares. She's still fun. _"Once," she replied. "It was worth it. 'Course, I didn't pay, so it really was worth it."

The blonde girl laughed again, pausing in her efforts to focus her full attention on Miley. "Yeah, that does make it great. I'm in the wonderful world of being broke and living on my own. My parents paid for my college to get my nursing license, but I decided I wanted to be a lawyer. Career change, I know, but I'm stuck paying for college myself this time around. I miss them paying for my stuff!" She finished off the sentence by sticking out her lower lip dramatically, and Miley was reminded of Lily's fake pouts. Did Lily still do that now?

"Hey," Taryn continued, "You know that if you need anything, you can ask me for it? I know that you've got Oliver, who'll do just about anything for you, but you can't exactly ask him to buy an episode of Cosmopolitan or anything like that. Well, you could, and he'd do it, but that wouldn't be very nice of you. The cashier would think he was gay, or too young to buy real porn. And those are the best-case scenarios."

Miley laughed and rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I will. Thanks." She wanted her dad there. And Jackson and Lily and whoever Lily was married to. But Taryn would certainly do for now.


	3. McGriddles, McDreamy

**A/N: **Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed/favorited/alerted/whatever! I'm glad that people seem to be liking this piece. I'm going to start including individual responses to reviews at the end of each chapter. Does that work as a bribe to get more people to review?

Also, I'm sorry this one took so long to get out; college midterms are coming up, and they've been kicking my butt.

**Disclaimer: **If you think I own Hannah Montana, you obviously haven't seen the car I drive.

By nine AM, Miley Stewart had successfully made it into and out of a very wonderful bath. She hadn't expected to be allowed to bathe so quickly, but as Doctor Henderson reminded her, there really wasn't anything wrong with her. Her brain and body had finally recovered enough to wake up, so that meant that all the damage had actually been healed. It had been a little embarrassing, having Taryn there, but the former-popstar had to admit that falling and cracking her skull wide open on the tile a few hours after having woken up from her concussion would have been a serious waste of the money used to pay hospital bills.

Taryn had kept up a constant flow of conversation that, if it didn't entirely put Miley at ease, certainly did manage to take her mind off things. It was fun, bantering around with the nurse. She had all the answers to the stupid, everyday questions that Miley had to ask. Did they still have a quarter pounder with cheese at McDonald's? Could she please bring her a fashion magazine? And, most importantly: had Orlando Bloom aged well?

The answers were uplifting. Yes, but they managed to make it healthier without changing how it tasted; absolutely, which one did she want; and not as well as one would have hoped, but there were plenty of even more attractive young actors.

When she was back in her bed, with wet—but wonderfully clean—hair, Miley took another moment to study the Hannah Montana posters on the wall. "So, did they tell anyone about me?" she asked, hesitatingly. The muscles in her legs protested the short walk over from the tub, even with Taryn there to lean on. Rehab was going to be a bitch.

"It was in the news," the nurse answered with less excitement than her answers usually held. "I remember it, actually. They told about a week after you actually fell."

Miley frowned. "Wait—what? Fell into what?"

Taryn looked over at her with a smile that didn't ring true. "Are you sure you want me to tell you?" she questioned. "I mean, your dad and your brother will be here soon, I know. They both left immediately for the airport when I called them and told them you were awake. It'd be better."

"No," the brunette replied, shaking her head. "I want to know. My dad won't tell me, and Jackson will clam up about it. I know they will. Please, Taryn?" It amazed her, how calm she sounded while asking this. In one part of her mind, the events that landed her in the hospital had occurred in the last twenty-four hours. In another part, it was an eternity ago. And what had happened had already happened. There wasn't going to be any going back. Ever.

The nurse took a deep breath, then moved over to sit on the foot of Miley's bed. "From what I know, you tripped while walking around a drained swimming pool and hit your head. In the deep end. They were amazed that you were still alive, really."

That was it. No frills, no cutting around the corners. Taryn had told it just like Miley wanted to hear it. "Thanks," she replied, nodding slightly. It was a little embarrassing, really. Tripping and falling into an empty pool at a party. But not nearly as horrible as 'oh, you were drunk and driving and you slammed into this other car and killed a mother and her three-year-old daughter.' Something she didn't have to be ashamed about or worrying about other people finding out about. It hadn't even been her fault. It had been a mistake.

"Miley," Taryn murmured. Miley glanced up, her thoughts interrupted, and saw a figure in the door. She was tempted to think of it as a familiar figure, but it wasn't—it was one she was going to be familiarized with, and it was vaguely familiar all at the same time. In other words, it was Oliver Oken holding a paper white bag with the familiar golden arches that signified Miley's favorite fast food restaurant.

Taryn frowned and shook her head at him. "You know, I might not be the most rule-abiding nurse in the world, but I know for a fact that the bag you're holding better contain my breakfast and not something you're trying to feed a patient that I'm still in the room with."

A sheepish smile crept across Oliver's face, and Miley found herself mentally, ridiculously comparing him to Doctor Henderson. Doctor Henderson was definitely more handsome, whereas Oliver's still-shaggy hair and little boy smile made him… charming? Adorkable? Something along those lines. Or maybe that was due to the oh-so-obvious guilt that was endearing. _The last one_, Miley decided with a smile.

The smell from the McDonald's bag was beginning to leak out—and it smelled like a sausage McGriddle and a hash brown. "Please, Taryn?" she asked, doing her best wounded dog look. It might not have been as dramatic as Lily's methods, but it might work.

"Nope," the blonde nurse replied firmly, yet smiling all the while. "She can have the orange juice, though. My digestive system has enough problems with something that sweet at this time of day. And I'm a relatively healthy individual. Physically healthy, at least. The verdict's still out on the mentally part," Taryn added nonchalantly.

Miley giggled, quite sure that the last part was to make up for denying her a meal. "Fine," she agreed. She wasn't hungry, anyways. She almost wanted to go to sleep, but was afraid that as soon as she fell, her dad would show up. It wasn't that far of a flight form Texas to Georgia. Unless he was out in El Paso. Then it was a long flight.

She looked up in time to see the blonde nurse digging around in the bag that Oliver still held. Smiling triumphantly, Taryn pulled out the breakfast sandwich and began unwrapping it. "Hey, you weren't going to eat it, anyways," she told Oliver, who was staring at her in utter disbelief. Taryn chuckled and turned back to Miley. "He acts like he's never worked with me before."

Oliver shrugged before pulling a straw out of the bag and inserting it into the orange juice cup. "Can you drink it yourself?" he asked, walking over to stand by her. "I can hold it for you, if you want."

"I'm a coma victim, not a paraplegic," Miley replied sarcastically, although she lacked the energy to snatch it out of his hand. Instead, she waited for Oliver to place the cup in her grasp, then lifted it up and took a few long sips of the juice. It was tart, sour, and just delicious. _OJ has gotten better in the last ten years,_ she thought, continuing to sip through the straw. _Much better_.

There was something that was bugging her—what was it? Something that she needed to know, if she could just remember it… "Did Meredith and McDreamy end up together on _Grey's_?" That wasn't it. But it was a question that needed answering.

Taryn raised an eyebrow, her mouth full of McGriddle, while Oliver smiled through a bite of hashbrown. "Of course," the nurse replied, her answer only slightly muffled by the food in her mouth. She swallowed, then grinned. "You know, I think I've got all of the seasons on DVD in a box somewhere in my apartment. In fact, I know I do, but I've got dozens of huge boxes. Just moved, and I haven't unpacked. I can bring them by if you want me to."

Despite the fact that she had spilled out all of those sentences in just a few moments, Taryn didn't wait for a reply before taking another large bite of her breakfast sandwich. "Yeah," Miley answered, a little glad to have found that she wouldn't miss all of her favorite television shows. Thank goodness for TV on DVD. "You have any other TV shows on DVD?"

The nurse considered that for a moment, but Oliver was the first to pipe up. "I've got _Boston Legal_ and _The Office_," he volunteered, looking a little sheepish that his collection didn't include any _CSI_ or _NCIS_. "And, um, some _Scrubs_. Not all of them, though."

"_The Nine_, _Law and Order SVU_, and _Lost_, all courtesy of my older brother who was convinced that the best TV shows came out when I was too young to watch them," Taryn added. "So yes, Oken, I win. Don't even try and beat me with your _Boston Legal_. Which is excellent, by the way."

"_Grey's_ first," Miley replied. She hadn't ever watched _Boston Legal_ or _The Nine_. _Lost_ she could vaguely remember, having caught an episode of it a few times when there was nothing else on. It had always confused the living daylights out of her. Including the part with the polar bear. They were on a hot, tropical island—why the hell had a polar bear been there? "Starting with the… Hell, just bring me all of them that you have."

Taryn nodded, then stuffed the last piece of McGriddle in her mouth. Miley wasn't entirely sure, but she was pretty certain that was the fastest she'd ever seen someone eat one of those. That certainly explained why the nurse was a little on the chubby side. "I'll bring 'em tomorrow," she promised. "But my shift is over, Miss Miley, unless you need anything else."

"You're not staying?" For some reason, she had been expecting Taryn to stay with her. She had been a welcome conversationalist, and talking to her was like talking to Lily. "Will you even be here when I'm awake tomorrow?"

The blonde nurse hesitated at that, then managed a shrug. "Look, if you just so happen to hate whatever nurse is assigned to you during the day, and you just happen to make a request to have me as a full-time nurse… Well, _I _certainly wouldn't mind working during the day and sleeping at night like the rest of the natural world. And thanks for the breakfast, Oken." She smiled, a little flippantly, at Oliver, and gave Miley a quick wave. "See you tomorrow, popstar."

Miley frowned, then turned to Oliver. "What did she mean, 'popstar'? Do people… Do people _know_?"

Oliver was quick to avert his attention to his shoes, which had apparently become very interesting in the last few moments. "Well, Miles—"

"Miles?"

The answer to her question was suddenly unimportant. Miley's eyes flew to the door, where a older, grayer, Robby Stewart was standing with tears in his eyes and a duffel bag in his hand. "Daddy!"

**DramaQueen94—**Thanks for the compliment. I went ahead and included the 'why she was in a coma' bit now, even though I was planning on waiting. Taryn's too much of a softie not to tell her if she asks.

**Mr.dr.jim**—I am indeed a Texan (a Houstonian, in fact—I'm guessing you've been to Galveston a few times, too). It's always easier to describe places you live in, which is why I chose to send one character to Texas.

**glPitTtAer**—Thank you so much! I really appreciated the comment on my writing; the first two chapters were rewrites of chapters I lost on my laptop, and I was worried about their quality.

**Luvs-Mitchel-Musso**—Thanks! I am leaning towards Moliver at the moment, but we'll see where it goes. Methinks Doctor Henderson was a Hannah Montana fan when he was younger. ;)

**definenormalAB**—Ack, your suggestion is something I knew I needed to work on. I'm bad with keeping chapter length going. I hope this one was long enough for you.

**Daddysgirl93—**Hee… Thanks. I'll try to keep it updated quickly enough.

**Iheartdisney128**—Thank you. I'm trying to update, I swear. Freaking college tends to put a damper on it sometimes.

**MitchelMussoIsHot**—I'm glad you like Taryn. I was afraid she would be a little Mary Sue-ish, but I love writing her and I'm thinking she'll become a pretty prominent character.


	4. The Everyday

**A/N: **Okay, there really is no excuse for the delay that occurred between the third and fourth chapter. None. I just kind of stopped writing, probably because the dorm I was living in stopped having Disney Channel access. I'm in a new apartment now, and was catching up on Hannah Montana yesterday—when I remembered this story! So I'm so sorry about the huge delay. As a reward, this chapter is extra-long. (And really not that good, unfortunately. I rewrote it, but it just made it worse!)

**Disclaimer: **If I owned Hannah Montana, Oliver and Miley would already be dating.

* * *

Physical therapy was a bitch.

Taryn had told her that it was going to suck, with a set face that made Miley realized that her new full-time nurse wasn't kidding. Her therapist told her constantly that she had double duty, because she was going to have problems figuring out how to work the body that had grown while she had been sleeping. He wasn't a bad guy, really. His name was Ben, and he reminded her of a sweet older guy who lived down the beach from her family. In her past life.

The good thing about it was that she could see her progress. For the first several days, it had been a struggle to remain standing on legs that threatened to collapse, even while resting most of her weight on a set of crutches. Now, two weeks later, she could stand on her own for a good five or six minutes at a time. She could even take several steps as long as she had someone to lean on for balance.

That didn't mean that her legs didn't ache when she was wheeled back to her hospital bed. Taryn was now there all day, every day—Miley had the sneaking suspicion that her dad was paying an extra bit to the hospital for that. Yet she couldn't bring herself to protest. The money that she'd made as Hannah Montana had surely run out a long time ago, but mankind had invented health insurance for a reason. Plus, the thought of replacing Taryn with another nurse was just wrong. The other nurses were as nice as they could be, sure, but Taryn was one of the youngest and was always happy to prattle on about the most random things. It kept her from thinking about her legs.

Miley groaned as Ben helped her sink back into her wheelchair, pain shooting up her calves and thighs. "Exactly _how_ long does it take before it won't hurt this much?" she asked the fifty-something-year-old man, who was giving her a sympathetic smile.

"You ask me that every time we do this, Hannah," he replied, his grin broadening into one that always emerged whenever he called Miley by her stage name. Ben had told her on the day they'd met that his daughter, Amanda, had been a huge Hannah Montana fan when she was younger. After that, he'd taken to calling her Hannah rather than Miley. It made her a little uncomfortable, but Miley wasn't going to protest. It would be rude to make a fuss over something so small.

"You never answer," she replied. It was her stock come-back in this situation, which arose with every physical therapy session. Still, it was nice. Regularity was a blessing when you were trying to get used to the fact that the world had changed while you slept, Miley realized as she craned her neck, looking around the room. "Where's Taryn?"

Ben frowned and shrugged his shoulders. "Probably stepping in for someone who wanted a break," he suggested. Taryn did that quite often when she was in physical therapy; Miley had the feeling that it was because the nurse couldn't bear to sit still and remain silent for that much time. She just had too much energy. "You want me to call someone to wheel you back to your room?"

Just as he asked, a disheveled-looking Taryn came into view. "Sorry, sorry," the nurse apologized, waving her hands as if it would make her apology more emphatic. "Jessie wanted lunch, so I worked the desk for her, and you could really care less, couldn't you?"

"I could _try_ and care less if you wanted me to." Miley tried not to grin playfully, but she just couldn't do it. She had already learned that teasing her blonde nurse seriously would make the poor girl look like she was about to cry. You had to make sure that Taryn knew you were joking, or else she'd assume the opposite. "But it might take some effort."

The young nurse extended her arm and pointed directly at Miley. "As punishment," she declared, "I, Taryn Alderson, will not watch _Everwood_ reruns with you this afternoon. You'll have to giggle about Bright and Hannah all by yourself. And what fun is that?"

Ben, apparently fine with the fact that he'd been forgotten, took Taryn's hands and placed them on the back of Miley's wheelchair. "You two have too much energy for me to deal with right now," he told them with a kind smile. "Now, nurse Alderson, take that poor girl back to her room before the food that Oken got her gets cold."

"Yeah, yeah." Taryn gently swiveled the wheelchair around and pushed it towards the door, waving her hand dismissively at Ben. As soon as they were out of hearing distance, she bent down to whisper in Miley's ear. "You know, there are no secrets in a hospital. So don't be surprised if everyone you see makes comments about Oliver to you."

"Wh-what?" Miley demanded, feeling a small amount of heat rise in her cheeks. Sure, Oliver had been nice to her, but it wasn't as if they'd been caught making out in her hospital bed or anything. In fact, ever since the first few days, he'd avoided all physical contact unless it was absolutely necessary, despite the fact that he often made one or two minute visits.

She could hear her nurse giggling, but her body hurt too much to try and turn in the chair and shoot her a glare of death. "Oh, trust me," Taryn continued, "It's hot gossip at the nurse's station. Which is where I was doing desk duty while you were in rehab. Anyways, I think that some of the female interns are pretty hacked. So, like, if you get any strange packages that you hear ticking from, just chunk them out the window."

The brunette woman groaned, rolling her eyes despite the fact that Taryn was pushing her from behind and therefore unable to see the full effect. "The only time that Oliver ever had a crush on me was when I was Hannah Montana," she muttered as they stopped to wait on an elevator. Taryn pushed on the button once, then again, and then once more. It was one of her small habits that Miley had begun to pick up on. "You know, pushing it three times won't make it come any faster."

"Prove it," Taryn quipped back, pushing the button a fourth time for good measure. "You know, back onto the subject that you so desperately want to avoid, you haven't told me about how Oliver found out that you were Hannah Montana. I mean, he didn't find out after you went into a coma, did he?"

Miley gave a weak shake of her head. "No, he knew. Because of the whole crush on Hannah Montana thing. And my best friend… She knew, too." She sighed. Thinking about Lily just hurt.

Ever since the first time that her father had arrived in her room, in wrinkled clothes and with salt-and-pepper hair that still threw Miley for a loop, Bobby Ray had been a continued presence in the hospital. He was only gone now because he was out apartment-hunting. He was moving to Georgia until she could relocate back to Texas with him, something that Miley was still unsure about.

Jackson had become, of all things, an army officer. From the phone calls he made, she could tell that he was desperate to come see her, but couldn't get a proper leave of absence. But Lily… Lily hadn't even bothered to call. Oliver evaded questions about her as best she could, and even Taryn would clam up when asked. That last bit meant that it had to be something bad. _Why doesn't she visit me?_

"Damn elevator!" Taryn swore, a bit too loudly, interrupting Miley's thoughts. She knew well enough that the nurse was cursing the contraption because she was sulking. Taryn didn't deal well with moody or melancholy people. "Maybe pressing the button makes it go slower?"

"Maybe," Miley agreed half-heartedly, just as a familiar _ding_ sounded and the doors slid open. "Maybe you just needed to will it to come."

The elevator ride was always a little bit awkward. Miley's wheelchair took up more room than she liked, not to mention that Taryn wouldn't ramble on and on when in an elevator full of people. The former pop-star was grateful for that, even if it meant sitting in awkward silence.

So when they arrived on the fourth floor, Miley found herself pushed out of the elevator at a much faster speed than was comfortable—another one of her nurse's quirks. It was never fun, but it happened every time. Regularity really was a blessing.

Taryn kept up her usual stream of conversation as she pushed the wheelchair into Room 415 and "unloaded" Miley into her bed. It was an unflattering term, but the patient herself had been the one to start using it. The way that she was just kind of hauled from one place to another wasn't any better than being carted around like a cow in a stock trailer.

Oliver wasn't in the room, which was surprising. Even more surprising was that Doctor Henderson was—he usually showed up a few minutes after she'd returned. "Hello, patient," the handsome doctor greeted her. "Hello, nurse."

"Hello, person who is standing where I need to put Miley's wheelchair," Taryn greeted him in turn, her voice sharper than it usually was. Miley wasn't sure, but she thought she saw a vague scowl cement itself onto her nurse's face every time that Doctor Henderson was in the room. She, for one, couldn't understand it. He was never anything but perfectly nice to her.

The doctor had the grace to move out of the way without retort, and Taryn gracelessly folded up the wheelchair and stuck it where he'd been standing. "So, how was PT today?"

Miley groaned melodramatically, leaning back and closing her eyes slightly to accentuate just how horrible it had been. "Awful. Wretched. Painful beyond anything that a human should ever have to endure during their whole life."

"Something tells me that you're trying to make it sound as though you're the victim. Now, why would that be? Ah, yes," he continued. "I think that you want me to let you eat the food Oken brings you instead of having Taryn eat it for you."

"What would you rather me do with it?" Taryn snapped, tugging on the end of her long braid. "I'm not throwing away perfectly good food. And I like the stuff Oliver brings—Miley's got good taste in fast food."

Miley didn't have the heart to tell her that she could care less for the stuff that Oliver brought. After the first few days, he'd recognized that Miley wasn't going to be able to eat, and started bringing Taryn's favorite items instead. He never said anything, and neither did she—but he'd always grin at her when handing Taryn the food, and Miley would smile right back. It was their own, private little secret. And Miley liked it that way.

"I was going to clear you to eat something besides hospital food today anyways," Henderson admitted. "Looks like your nurse is going to have to find food elsewhere." He smiled at Taryn, who responded with a not-quite-genuine smile. Miley was thankful for that; too much of a response from Taryn would get her fired. Not to mention that seeing two people she liked fight was never pleasing.

"Anyways," he continued, drawing her attention away from the impending fight, "Miley, you're looking great. Everything seems to be working out just fine, and maybe we can start talking about release dates in a week or so. Does that sound good to you?"

"It sounds _wonderful_," she replied with a sigh. Release, release, release. She would still have to come in for therapy, but it would be far better than being stuck in a hospital bed every day.

There was a light knock on the door frame as soon as she finished answering, and the familiar visage of Oliver appeared. He was holding a Sonic bag this time, and it smelled like it had tater tots. "Food!" Miley cried dramatically, holding her hand out. "Gimme gimme gimme. The doctor said it's okay, so hand it over, intern boy!"

Oliver raised an eyebrow, but made no motion to move forward. "You know, I don't think that's appropriate behavior to exhibit to a person who just brought you food. Do you know what I had to go through to get this?"

"Yes, I'm sure you slaughtered the animal yourself and cooked it all over a Bunsen burner in the pharmacy. Now give it here, or so help me!" It was an empty threat, clearly—she was lying in a hospital bed, and Oliver was in decent shape. But still, it was unexpectedly enough to make the young man relent and hand her the bag before placing the corresponding drink on the table next to her bed.

Doctor Henderson excused himself—or rather, exited without saying a word, as he was prone to do, while Miley opened the bag. She had been right. Tater tots and popcorn chicken. "Oliver, I think I'm in love with you," Miley gushed, grabbing a tater tot and popping it in her mouth before chewing and swallowing quickly. "You are the best! I take back every mean thing I ever said about you. Really."

She was too involved in eating her lunch to notice that Taryn had nudged Oliver slightly with her elbow, and he was firmly involved in staring at the floor.

* * *

**  
A/N: **I'm sorry if little seemed to happen during this chapter; I promise, a lot is going to hit the fan in the next one. But before I get to writing on that, let me know—is there any Hannah Montana character you'd like to see Lily married to, or would you rather she be married to a new guy? I only ask because I have plans, but I don't want to make a lot of people mad. (Jackson isn't an option, sadly—I do adore the two of them together, though! And no Oliver, clearly.)

Also, I know that I'm leaning heavily towards Moliver right now, but even if it does end up with the two of them, it's hardly going to start now. I have too many plans in line for this series!


	5. Changing Pace

**A/N: **Back from the dead, back from the dead. I'm sure that most people have forgotten this fic or given up on it, but here's the next chapter. You call all thank the one and only Vfrn for this, who added this story to her update list and gave me a sudden burst of inspiration to write the next chapter. Huzzah, huzzah. I realize that a lot of stuff has happened in the fictional Hannah-verse since I started this story, but that won't change anything in this story. Sorry if that offends anyone.

* * *

"If my father makes me go back home to Texas with him, I am going to _die_," Miley groaned. "Do you hear me, Taryn? All of your hard work and all this rehab will have been for nothing, because I will be suffocated with too much love and worry and obsession. He will drive me up a wall. How am I supposed to tell him that?"

Taryn chuckled at that, as she continued to fiddle with the IV drip attached to brunette woman's arm. "Sounds tough, to have someone caring and watching out for you so much that it kills you. There are worse ways to die, though, right?" she asked, her lips pursing in concentration as she checked the level of fluid in the bag.

Miley raised an eyebrow at her caretaker, then shifted her weight in her bed so that she was sitting a little straighter. "You are a serious killjoy. You can't let me mope and whine a little bit before they drag me off, never to see you again? You know you'll miss me when I'm gone."

"Horridly, horridly. But that's why I'm not letting you be all mopey," Taryn replied, a broad grin softening her words. "If you get all sad, then I'll get sad, and I'll cry, and then my mascara will run, and it will just be this giant disaster. And you still leave, and what have we accomplished other than to prove that waterproof mascara is anything but?"

"Ah, I am going to miss you." It was the truth, and Miley knew that Taryn felt the same way. The ex-idol still thought it was strange that she was going to be living somewhere else in a matter of days. She was going to be living in Texas, where she didn't know anyone except her father. Lily was still overseas somewhere, and Oliver and Taryn would still be in Atlanta.

Her stomach twisted suddenly at that, but Miley wasn't sure which one of them she was jealous of, let alone why she would feel that way. Oliver and Taryn had become friends, connected by their shared medical interest in Miley, and she had the nagging feeling that Oliver got just a little happier if Taryn was in the hospital room when he came to visit than when she was with another patient. _Just because I was his friend before, doesn't mean I have a claim over his friendship,_ Miley chided herself. _Surely he's made friends and had lots of girlfriends since I've been in my coma_.

Taryn had finished adjusting the IV drip, and wiped her hands on her skirt. "Well, just be happy that you won't have to have that thing stuck in your arm all day, every day." She pointed at the needle taped to the back of Miley's hand, grimacing slightly. "I got hospitalized for a few days once, and that was the worst part about it all. Hated it, hated it."

"What were you in the hospital for?" Miley asked, wondering why she was prying into the girl's life when she would only be in it for three days.

She didn't seem to mind, though, as she just shrugged and let out a sigh. "I used to bruise really easily, and my mom was convinced that it was something serious, but it's not. I swear," Taryn added at the sight of Miley's concerned face. "Seriously, I don't lie to patients, which you are for a few more days. I just bruise easy and trip over myself a lot. One of the many problems of having big feet, ranked only slightly above the inability to find shoes in your size. Horrible."

Miley laughed, relieved that it wasn't serious, but also slightly jealous that someone could shrug off their experience in a hospital so easily. Maybe one day she would be able to do the same. _"Yeah, I was in a coma for twelve years and missed what are supposed to be the best years of my life, but it was no big deal, ha ha ha." That would be nice_.

"Well, much as I will miss you, I do have other patients, and you're getting too healthy for me to claim that I need to check up on you that much," Taryn said. "But one of the nurses told me your dad was in the cafeteria, so I bet he'll be up here soon. To, y'know, take the loneliness away. Page me if you need anything else, 'kay?"

Taryn gave a small wave as she walked out the door. "Bye," Miley responded weakly, lifting her right hand--the one without the IV needle--to give a wave in response. Taryn would be back on her lunch break to watch _Pushing Daisies_ on DVD, but they didn't get to hang out as much as they had when Miley had first woken up.

She reached for the remote and turned the TV on, flipping through various daytime shows before settling on The History Channel. It was something about Medieval European castles, which was vaguely interesting and far better than a soap opera. Miley fiddled slightly with the coverlet on her bed, realizing suddenly that she wasn't just leaving the place she'd been living in since she woke up. She was leaving what had been her home for almost eleven years. She didn't even remember the first hospital she had gone to before they'd moved her to Atlanta. How strange was it going to be for the nurses and doctors, for that matter, who had seen her there every day for as long as they'd been working?

Her thoughts were interrupted by a tentative knock on the door, which came from Bobby Ray. He held a cup of Jell-O and a plastic spoon in his hand, and offered them to his daughter when he sat down in the chair next to her bed. "What flavor?" Miley asked. "I'm not taking it if it's some strange 'Tropical Island Punch' that really isn't a flavor."

"It's red," he replied. "Come on, what's safer than red? Can't say if it's cherry or strawberry, but either of 'em are good." Bobby Ray smiled at her, still holding out the Jell-O cup, which Miley reached out and grabbed, tearing off the metal cover and digging in.

"Strawberry," she announced after the first bite. "Good. Thank you."

Bobby Ray nodded, and turned his attention towards the TV. They sat in silence for the rest of the documentary, Miley eating her Jell-O so slowly that it got warm. "Why is it," she remarked during one commercial about Ritz crackers, "that it doesn't turn back into liquid? You have to put it in your mouth and swish it around. That's just not normal."

"It's Jell-O," he replied. "Just appreciate that it's sweet, it's flavored, and you can eat it when you're sick." Miley did just that, finishing off the bottom of the serving-sized container and placing her trash on the table next to her.

"Three days," she said suddenly, not sure where the words came from or why she felt that she had to mention it. They both knew that she was going to be released, they both knew that they were going back to Texas, and they both knew that it was strange.

Her father continued to sit there for a moment, opening and closing his mouth as if he had something he wanted to say, but couldn't find the words. Miley frowned, wondering at the deep wrinkles on his forehead and around his eyes as he reflected on thoughts she wasn't privy to. "Daddy, you know, I can't wait to go home," she lied. "Well, not home, but back to Texas. I want to go outside and go to the beach and walk around, and get out of this ridiculous hospital gown."

Bobby Ray leaned forward suddenly, his left elbow on the bed and his right hand on the top of her head. "Miles, baby," he sighed, stroking her forehead. "I know that you don't want to go, and I know that I have to. So, if you want to, you can stay here. I'll pay for your apartment, and you can stay here and go to physical rehab, and study for your GED, and you can start something new…"

Miley could feel the tears welling up in her eyes, and she shook her head sharply. "No, Daddy, no, I don't know how to live by myself! I--I'm not twenty-six, I'm fourteen! Fourteen year-olds don't live on their own, they live with their parents and they go to school, and they have sleepovers with their friends, and they're irresponsible!" She could hear herself rambling on and on, but the words continued to spill out in spite of her best efforts to control them. "Daddy, Daddy, you can't leave me here by myself!"

Bobby Ray pulled her into a tight embrace, and it was only then that Miley realized that he was shaking as he smoothed down her hair. "You don't have to stay if you don't want, baby," he murmured, kissing the top of her head. "You don't. But you won't be by yourself. You'll have Oliver, and Taryn, and if you come home, all you'll have is me. You won't have any friends, you won't have anybody except me. And I'm not enough. You don't want to live with me forever, you want to strike out on your own and enjoy your life while you're still young. While you still can."

She wanted to protest, wanted to say that he was all that she needed, but all she could do was cry. Because he was right, and they both knew it. Miley was realizing it just now, but her father had known it from the first moment he'd seen her. She had been propped up in her hospital bed, with Taryn at the foot of her bed and Oliver standing next to her, and she had been happy.

When Bobby Ray left for the night, Miley's eyes were still puffy from crying, but they were dry. Taryn found her sitting up in her bed, hugging her pillow to her chest and staring blankly at the wall when she came in after her shift was over. "Hey," the nurse greeted her softly.

Miley glanced up at the blonde, smiling weakly. "I'm staying in Atlanta," she said. Somehow, Miley had expected she had run herself out of tears, but she could feel them gathering again. "My dad's going back to Texas, and I'm staying here." She raised her tearful eyes, chin trembling slightly. "We're friends, right? When I'm not in the hospital, will you still see--"

Her voice cracked before she could finish the statement, but Taryn would have cut her off before than anyways. "Oh, sweetie, of course we're friends," she replied, rushing forward and wrapping her arms around Miley. "Of course we're friends. I'm so wrapped up in my job, I think you may be my best friend, and there's no way that we're not seeing each other after you're released."

Miley let out a long, shuddering sigh and hugged her newly-declared best friend back. "Thank you," she whispered. "If I get an apartment that's way far away from you, I'll come and visit you--you won't have to come see me."

And then, it happened. Taryn pushed Miley away slightly, still holding onto her shoulders. "I know!" she declared, her momentary quiet reassurance replaced by the usual bubbly, too-excited Taryn. "You should come live with me! My apartment's tiny, and it sucks, but we can get a two-bedroom in a better complex, and you can sleep on the couch until then. And you still have to go to physical therapy, and I'm just by the rail stop, so you can get there no problem!"

The nurse's excitement was practically bubbling over, making Miley happier and happier with each sentence. "Yes!" she agreed impulsively, then immediately frowned. "But won't I be disrupting you, and what about your schedule and your friends coming over and stuff? Won't me living on your couch ruin your plans and stuff?"

"When you are a nurse, you have no plans," Taryn told her with a smile. "And besides, we've already established that you're my best friend, so screw the rest of them. Like I said, I'm job-crazy, so I don't have any pressing social engagements to begin with."

Miley didn't know if choosing to live on a couch for an undetermined amount of time was a good idea, but she knew that it was a fun, exciting one that would make the transition easier. Taryn was not as dependable as Bobby Ray, or as familiar as Oliver, but she hadn't known Miley before the accident, and wouldn't want her to be her old self. And even if Miley couldn't have put the feeling into words, it was a huge relief.

* * *

**A/N: **Comments/suggestions/pledges of loyalty are always welcome. I hope that everyone enjoys this chapter; I was a little worried that it might look like I'm simply replacing Lily with Taryn, but there's a reason for that. If I can manage to keep up with this story for as long as I want, then all will be explained. And Lily will return, I promise. How could she not?

Too much happened in this chapter for its length, but such is life. Sorry. I'll try and pace the next chapter: and it's the move. Exciting, no?


End file.
